


Apologue

by sweetjamielee



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/F, Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:19:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetjamielee/pseuds/sweetjamielee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They hope their luck is changing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally published in the now-defunct BW Fanfiction Magazine; had a request to pull it out of obscurity and post here! There are spoilers for Ham Sandwich (2x17) and beyond.

They drive for a long time… long enough that the city skyline shrinks to nothing, long enough that the sun starts to dip.  Alicia isn’t nervous exactly, when the GPS system starts cutting out and its promises of “Acquiring Signal” become less and less of a sure thing, but it’s curious.  Uncomfortable.

 

“You know where you’re going?” she asks the driver, the first thing that’s been said since she entered the car.

 

Kalinda reaches out and powers down the navigator.  She mostly looks like the woman Alicia remembers from the days they used to talk, make eye contact.  The hair, the skirts, the boots, the horseshoe necklace.  Purple used to be her color, but she’s taken to wearing grays and blues.  “Nope.” 

 

It is the answer Alicia expects.  She settles back and stares out the window.  Everything looks scorched by the interminable heat wave, husks of what it once was.

 

Eventually Kalinda sighs, a resigned sound, and turns where a fading sign marks Country Road 4.  Another mile, another turn and they are in a mostly empty field, flat and wide in that way Alicia sometimes forgets the Midwest is.  There’s a tree in the far corner, the only source of shade, and Kalinda backs the car up underneath it.

 

Getting out of the car seems the thing to do, even though the heat is a shroud of moist discomfort.  Kalinda’s wardrobe isn’t ideal for this weather – leather sticks, restricts.  Of course, Alicia is wearing jeans and still doesn’t feel at ease.  She never does these days, though.

 

Even though the sun is waning, the metal is still super-heated as Alicia boosts herself up onto the hood of the car, reclines against the windshield.  It must burn the backs of Kalinda’s thighs when she does the same, but if it hurts she doesn’t show it.

 

They don’t sit terribly long, contemplating the sky in silence, before a flask materializes from somewhere on Kalinda’s person.  She takes a long drink; hesitates for just a second before passing it over.  Alicia accepts it and regards it warily, but a glance at the woman next to her cements the need to self-medicate.  The brandy is smooth, shouldn’t burn, but still is hot, hot sliding down her throat.

 

Light filters through the branches of the tree they’re under, forming patterns on their skin.  It’s a cypress, Alicia recognizes.  Feels out of place here; she only knows them to grow further south.  There’s a story about that which pings in the back of her mind, from classroom days before law school -- for lack of more comforting thoughts, she tries to remember.

 

Greek mythology, yes.  Cyparissus, who wounded, killed his most beloved companion by accident and was so consumed with grief he begged Apollo to be allowed to mourn forever.   His wish granted, he was turned to a cypress tree, which would forever preside over the bereaved and broken-hearted.

 

She wonders if Kalinda knows that story.  She wonders about blues and grays, wonders about the black notebook.  It’s enough to drive her mad, wondering what everything _means,_ but that’s the thing about Kalinda – she’s a cryptogram, operates in symbols.  It’s unfortunate that the one thing Alicia now knows about her for sure, is the only thing she’s not sure she can forgive.

 

“You should have told me,” Alicia says, after they’ve sat here for a half hour, after she’s lost track of how often she’s passed the brandy.  It’s not _her_ responsibility to start this conversation, she’s not the one who suggested they take a drive.  But she is the one who agreed, and somebody has to say something or they might be here until the blue sky turns black.  Until the stars come out.

 

“I know.”  Kalinda says it quickly, like it’s on the tip of her tongue, but she takes another drink as if to bide time, not knowing what comes next.  “I can’t take it back.” 

 

Alicia waits a moment for the _I wish I could_ ; is frustrated when it doesn’t come.  “Friends are supposed to be honest with one another.”  She’s belaboring it, maybe , but it’s been the litany in her head, the _supposed to’s,_ the _should have’s._   “Unless you never saw me as…”

 

Kalinda looks at her then, sharply – it’s the first direct eye contact she’s made all day.  For weeks, even.   “I did.  I do.  I’m just… I’m really bad at it, Alicia.”

 

Her vehemence isn’t a thing Alicia knows what to do with.  She believes it, maybe; but trusting Kalinda’s sincerity of _feeling_ has never been the biggest hurdle.  It’s a friendAlicia has needed – not the damn Da Vinci code. 

 

“Seems to be my poor luck, finding people who are bad at being honest with me.”  The words taste as bitter as they sound, and she’s not sure why they are here anymore.  Why she _wants_ to be here.

 

The pass the brandy in silence another time or two; Kalinda is taking longer swallows than she is, and it’s exceptional that she never seems drunk.  Another mystery.

 

Alicia’s surprised by the movement when Kalinda sits up, leaving a handprint behind on the windshield.  At first it’s unclear what’s happening, as her fingers play at the back of her neck where her hair curls damp, but then she turns and Alicia feels the silver pressed hot against her fingers. 

 

Kalinda’s horseshoe necklace.

 

“For better luck,” she explains.

 

Alicia has never, ever seen Kalinda without this piece of jewelry.  She has always idly wondered if it were a gift, a keepsake, an heirloom, a talisman, but never asked because – well, Kalinda doesn’t answer questions.  Now as she looks down at it, there is not a question in her mind that it means something.   “I can’t just take…”

 

“Please.”  There’s an urgency in Kalinda’s tone, and this is one of _those_ moments – the make-it-or-break-it kind.

 

It’s swaying on its delicate chain, glinting in the falling sun, hypnotizing.  “Has it brought _you_ good luck?”

 

Kalinda studies the clouds; the sky matches the fabric of the shirt she’s wearing, and the color really doesn’t suit her.  She shrugs, and for a disconcerting moment it’s impossible to look away not from the jewelry, but from the unfamiliar naked flesh at Kalinda’s neckline, reminding what’s been given away.  “You’re here.”

 

From anybody else the words may sound trite, insincere.  Forcing her gaze away, Alicia’s head falls back; she contemplates the leaves of the tree above them, thinks of grief and guilt and endless mourning, a forever-penance.  She finds herself hating the thought of it.

 

It seems a long time before she looks down again, but when she does the flask is held out in front of her – it’s her turn.  She considers for a moment before shaking her head.

 

“No.”  Off Kalinda’s questioning expression, Alicia pushes it gently back toward her (although she keeps the necklace, tangled in her fingers, heavier than it should be in her hand).  “One of us has to drive.  And I think it’s about time we got out from under this damn thing, don’t you?”

 

Alicia sees no confusion at the reference, but it’s perhaps the sentiment that makes Kalinda’s eyes widen a fraction before she recovers.  Then, there’s the faintest trace of a smile.  “Yeah.  I’d like that.”

 

The grass is brittle as straw under Alicia’s shoes when her feet hit the ground.  Instinctively she reaches out with her right hand, the one with the chain still looped about her fingers.

 

Kalinda eyes it, hesitates for just a fraction of a second before accepting the gesture.  The charm is pressed delicately between their palms until Kalinda has slid off the hood and is stable on the heels of her boots.  Alicia grips it tightly as they cross one another in front of the car; she’ll be the one directing them back.

 

The GPS is still searching when she turns it on.  Alicia hopes they can find their way home.  She hopes it’ll rain; that she’ll see Kalinda in purple again, soon.  She hopes symbols can mean more than words, that hurt and grief aren’t rooted to the ground.

 

She hopes her luck is changing.


End file.
